


Five Things Davey Learned About Jack Kelly in their First Month Dating...

by ArtemisRayne



Series: May Look at a King - A Newsies Felisian AU [4]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Felisians, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Artists, Backstory, Bullying, Cat Ears, Cat/Human Hybrids, Davey is a Stubborn Independent Boi, Davey is also a Little Shit, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Felisian, Felisian!Jack, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Jack Needs a Hug, Jack is a Little Shit, M/M, Mixed Family, Partial Colorblindness, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Relationship, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Senses, Sensory Headaches, Sensory Overload, Tactile, hearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: ...and the One Thing Davey Learned by Sharing in Return.





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, I feel like you should probably have read the other works in the series for this one to make sense, but if you don't want to bother - TLDR; modern college Newsies AU in which Jack (and a few others) are cat/human hybrids called felisians. 
> 
> Alternate title for this piece is "Artie wanted to do a little world-building and backstory, but couldn't come up with a streamlined plot to put it into an actual fic, so she decided to give the 5+1 trope a try as an excuse for fluffy-angsty backstory snippets." 
> 
> I know, both versions are a little wordy.

"If ya find anythin' shameful, assume it's Racer's."

Davey glances over his shoulder at Jack, who is busying himself in the kitchen of his apartment. It's Friday night, and once again, the felisian invited him around for dinner after his work shift. (Davey tries not to count his ducks before they hatch, but he thinks these Friday night dinner dates might become a regular thing.) Curiosity drew Davey's attention over to the bookshelf in the living room, eyes panning the rows of books and DVDs and trinkets that litter the shelves. He opens his mouth to apologize, embarrassed at being caught snooping, but Jack waves a hand dismissively.

"Told ya to make yourself at home, didn't I?" says Jack, already turning back to the fridge. "S'fine. Not like I didn't do the same thing when ya let me into your dorm."

"Oh yeah?" Davey asks and laughs, but the tension eases out of his shoulders. "Find anything interesting?"

"Sure," the felisian agrees, and his smile is mischievous. "Plenty interesting, nothin' too scary. 'Cept maybe that you still own CDs, that's kinda weird. You ever heard of iPods? Or, ya know, your phone?"

Davey snorts. "I have an iPod," he counters. He tips his head to read the faded title on a paperback book - _A Comprehensive History of Felisian Culture and Integration._ "Wow, that's heavy reading. Anyway, I don't have a ton of CDs anymore. Those ones aren't even music, it's all ambient noise stuff. You know, rainstorms and ocean waves and stuff like that."

Davey's eyes drift across a framed photo propped up on one of the shelves. The picture behind the glass is of two guys with their heads ducked together, smiling tenderly. Davey recognizes Racetrack, who works at the coffee shop with Jack, although his curls are a bit longer in the photo. The other man is a dark-haired felisian that Davey assumes is Race's husband and Jack's older brother, Spot. It has to have been a candid picture, something almost painfully beautiful and bright and intimate about the captured moment.

"Meditation music?" Jack asks, nearly successful in managing to mask his amusement. "Secretly a yogi?"

"Helps me study," Davey replies with a laugh. "And my laptop's old, so it tends to overheat if I try to run my music while I'm doing homework or whatever. So until I can afford a new computer, it's the thrift store CD player for me."

Jack hums in understanding. "Not gonna lie, just the tiniest bit disappointed it ain't yoga," he says. When Davey looks over, there's a spark in the felisian's eyes that Davey's starting to recognize as trouble. "Was pretty interested thinkin' you're real flexible or something, that could'a been fun."

He can't stop the surprised laugh, and Davey shakes his head, even as he can feel heat creeping up the back of his neck. "Sorry to disappoint," he says. "Sarah - my sister - she tried to make me do yoga with her once when she was on a health kick in high school. I pulled a muscle I didn't even know _existed_ , and that was enough for me." Jack snickers and turns his attention back to the stove, where he's flipping pancakes (because he insists that breakfast for dinner is the best, and Davey doesn't turn down pancakes at any time of day). "Is it okay if I get a bottle of water?"

"Help ya'self," says Jack, nodding toward the fridge. Davey crosses over and pulls out one of the bottles in the door shelf gratefully. When he straightens up, his gaze glides across the various detritus stuck to the fridge door. There's a shopping list with three different handwritings on it, pinned in place by a Yankees magnet; an appointment reminder from a dentist's office for 'Tony' that's dated over a month ago; a child's drawing done in colored pencils, depicting a row of people with overlarge triangles atop their heads and squiggly tails. Scattered in amongst those are Polaroid photos held in place by an assortment of novelty magnets from all over.

"And you made fun of me for owning CDs," Davey remarks in amusement as he surveys the little white-framed squares. "I didn't even know they still _made_ Polaroid cameras."

Jack snorts, ears fluttering, and his tail smacks against Davey's knee in a gesture that can only be intentional. "Pro'lly don't anymore. Was a birthday present from my ma," he admits. "I was like - thirteen, I think? I still got it, but I don't use it much anymore 'cause finding the film for it's a bitch. It's fun, though. I like the way those old photos look, ya know?"

"Hipster," Davey responds jokingly and gets another whack from the tail for it.

As he sips the water bottle, Davey peruses the pictures interestedly. He recognizes Jack's face in several, as well as Race and the guy he assumes is Spot, and even sees one with a few of Jack's friends from campus Davey met the other day. There's another felisian boy in quite a few photos, a young teen with light brown hair and a bottlebrush tail, and a tiny felisian girl who can't be more than eight or nine, her dark features contrasted by sleek white ears. "Are these your other siblings?" Davey asks curiously.

"Yep, that's the crew," Jack agrees after a quick glance. "The grumpy lookin' one, that's Spot, the one lives here. The smiley kid is Crutchie, and the girl's Smalls."

"Come again?" Davey asks with a laugh. "Seriously, what do you have against normal names?"

Jack grins and flips a pancake with a flourish - it only crumples a little on one edge and Davey's grudgingly impressed. "What's life without a little fun?" Jack says, shrugging. "C'mon, don't tell me your family don't got nicknames for each other. Like, you got a twin, right? You never had, like, teasin' names for each other?"

"Nothing I'd feel compelled to keep using regularly," says Davey, smirking. "Sarah calls me 'Walking Mouth' sometimes, but I'm not about to go around introducing myself like that."

That sends Jack into a fit of giggles, and Davey shoves him in retaliation. "I like that," the felisian says, smiling devilishly. "Walkin' Mouth. I'mma use that."

"And I'll kick you," Davey responds dryly.

"Spoilsport." Jack transfers the pancake to the small pile waiting on a platter and nods over his shoulder toward the breakfast bar. Davey settles onto a stool while Jack returns to the fridge. "Nah, I dunno, it's just habit now," he continues, reemerging with butter and syrup. "Charlie - that's Crutchie's real name - he picked his, 'cause he's got a fake leg, has to use crutches to get around. Says if he tells folks to call him that, they can't use it as an insult, ya know? And Smalls, well, her name's Guadalupe, so Smalls is just less a mouthful."

"Guadalupe?" Davey echoes in surprise. He'd thought that the little girl seemed darker skinned than the boys, but now that he thinks about it, _none_ of the siblings look particularly alike. Davey also notes that there are no adult felisians anywhere among the photos. Sure, he's only known Jack two weeks, but Davey's always been perceptive, and he's noticed the way Jack will sometimes hedge around the topic of his parents. The idea is there, but Davey doesn't know how to ask it without sounding rude.

"We're foster kids," Jack says abruptly, taking the pressure of asking off Davey. Jack is smiling knowingly when Davey meets his gaze and the felisian shrugs. "S'fine, it ain't a secret or nothin'. Anyone looks at us can tell. 'Specially when - oh, here." Jack pauses on his way back to the bar, plucking a photo off the fridge and passing it to Davey. "That's Ma."

The photograph shows Jack in a graduation cap and gown, trapped in a side-hug with a curvy black woman. She's a striking figure in a glamorous lilac dress, with flowers woven into her micro-braids and a dazzling smile. Davey gets the distinct impression that she's the sort of person who's used to commanding a room, but there's also something so achingly _fond_ in her eyes as she gazes up at Jack's face. "She looks really nice."

"She's a hellcat," Jack replies, chuckling, as he sticks the picture back on the fridge. "But she's a gem. Dunno what I'd done without her."

"And she's not felisian," Davey says because he can't stop himself.

Jack snorts. "Nah, just a crazy cat lady," he says, shaking his head. He slides up onto the stool beside Davey, piling a pancake onto his plate. "Made it some sorta life mission to take in the felisian kids that no one else is gonna want, 'cause it's hard enough gettin' a home when you're older 'an five, let alone when you have a tail."

"Really?" Davey asks, surprised. "I mean, being felisian makes a difference?"

"Sure, the cute factor's worn off then," Jack says with a derisive noise. "You know how it goes. Same thing that happens when you go to the pound; puppies and kittens go home before the older ones, every time." The felisian clears his throat, and the bitterness melts out of his expression, his grin coming back. "Doesn't help when the older one's got a history of getting into all kindsa trouble."

"Are you trying to say you were a hooligan?" Davey asks teasingly.

" _Me_? Nah, of course not," Jack says, flashing a look of mock indignation at him. "I'm a perfect angel. But Crutchie, that kid's trouble up and down. And don't get me started on the little one. She's straight crazy." Davey snorts. "Okay, so maybe I had a bituva rep," Jack concedes, smirking. "Nothin' that a few months with Medda couldn't fix though. She made it clear from the start; she thought we were worth fixing and she wasn't giving up, no matter what we did. And damn did I try. Turns out she's more stubborn than me."

"I'm glad." It slips out without his meaning to, but Davey doesn't take it back. He's glad that there's someone in the world who saw the 'something-good' in Jack that Davey can tell is there; who's out there to save the kids who've been forgotten, even if it's just saving them from themselves.

Jack meets Davey's gaze, and his smile softens into something genuine. "Yeah, me too." A comfortable silence falls between them, and they eat their dinner in quiet for a minute.

"So I'm curious," Davey says thoughtfully, and Jack hums to prompt him on, "well, I know all your siblings' nicknames, but what's _yours_?"

The felisian snorts, his ears flicking. "Wouldn't you like ta' know," he answers with a smirk.

"Yeah, that's kind of why I asked," Davey deadpans. Jack pokes him with an elbow but doesn't respond. "C'mon, I told you the stupid name Sarah calls me. Tell me." Mouth full of pancakes, Jack simply grins and shakes his head. "Wow, it must be embarrassing if you're scared to say it."

"Ain't scared," Jack protests, ears flattening back against his skull. "Just - tryna keep the mystery alive. Gotta keep ya interested somehow, right?"

Scoffing, Davey rolls his eyes. "Right, 'cause you're so _boring_ normally," he says sarcastically. Jack beams, looking thoroughly pleased with himself at this, and his tail thumps eagerly against a leg of the stool. "Fine, be a brat then. I'll figure it out some other way."

"Detective Davey, huh?" Jack taunts.

"Worse," Davey replies, smirking. "Investigative Journalist Davey."

Jack barks a laugh, bright and amused. "Lord help me, I'm screwed."


	2. Tactile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more angsty than the last, not quite to trigger warning area but there are implications. 
> 
> Thanks again, as always, for you guys indulging my silly flights of fancy.

In Davey's high school psychology class, the teacher did a lesson on something called The Five Languages of Love. The theory laid out the idea that there are five main forms of expressing affection, and that every person has one primary style they default to. Davey was fascinated by the concept and spent the next few weeks observing and cataloging all of the people in his life to figure out what category they fell under.

His mother is undoubtedly the verbal sort, the way Esther heaps praise on her children whenever they do well, her whispered 'love yous' and endless encouragements. Mayer, on the other hand, is more about spending time together; he always made it a point to have a special day alone with each of the Jacobs kids, giving them quality one-on-one time.

With Sarah, it's about the gifts, bestowing the efforts of her latest crafting venture on her family with a proud smile. Davey's last boyfriend was the same way, except instead of the lumpy knitted hats or decoupage artwork, Bill's presents came with price tags that usually made Davey's head spin (and rankled his pride). His little brother, Les, is less about giving things and more about _doing_ them, like jumping in to help with chores so the other family members would have more free time.

The one form Davey's had the least exposure to, of course, turns out to be the very definition of who Jack Kelly is: the felisian is _insanely_ tactile.

It's not that Davey's got a problem with touch or anything. His family all hug each other in greetings or farewells, and his mom is known to drop kisses on cheeks frequently enough. Bill was never much for PDA, but the boyfriend before that was an avid hand-holder. So Davey doesn't have any particular aversion to being touched, he's just never met someone who touches people quite as much as Jack Kelly does.

Any time that Davey is around Jack, he's constantly being peppered with little moments of contact. It's nothing overwhelming or obtrusive, just tiny things; a hand at the elbow, an arm around his back, a knee bumping against his. There's almost something to it, like Jack is reassuring himself that Davey is still there. Davey doesn't think much of it at first, caught up in the heady thrill of this blossoming new relationship and hormones more than willing to follow along.

Except as Davey starts to meet some of Jack's friends during those first weeks, Davey discovers that Jack is the same way with _everyone_. The felisian seems to have no sense of personal boundaries, and no qualms about intruding on other people's space. He drags Albert in with an arm looped around the shoulders, ruffles Romeo's hair affectionately, flops dramatically into Specs' lap. Davey is fairly certain Jack doesn't even notice that he does it, the repeated touching just some intrinsic part of Jack's character.

It's in the second week that Davey discovers the one kind of touch that Jack _doesn't_ like.

They're having a lazy evening in, Jack exhausted from a long shift at the café and Davey from a three-hour biology lecture, and it happens entirely unexpectedly. The episode of _Baker Street_ they are streaming on Davey's laptop ends, and Jack leans forward to click the button that will let them skip the title sequence on the next one. As he does, his tail sweeps up to instinctively steady his balance, the end coming dangerously close to Davey's face in the process.

Davey moves without thinking about it, hand coming up to shove the tail away from his eyes, but the moment his fingers make contact with fur, Jack jumps like he's been burned. With a noise halfway between a yelp and a growl, the felisian jerks away from Davey so hard he tumbles off the edge of the dorm's narrow bed. "Shit, Jack, you okay?" Davey asks, startled, as he scrambles to the side of the mattress.

"M'fine," says Jack, waving a hand flippantly from where he's sitting on the floor. "Lost my balance. So much for cats landin' on their feet, huh?" He's clearly trying to brush the moment aside with his usual dry jokes, but Davey's not stupid. The felisian's ears are pressed back flat against his skull, his pupils blown wide into perfect circles, and behind him, the fur of his tail has thickened in an involuntary fear response, nearly doubling its size.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Davey says hastily. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Said I'm fine," Jack answers shortly. Davey flinches, and Jack forces his expression to relax again, licking his lips tentatively. "Really, I'm fine," he says more steadily this time, but there's a hint of embarrassment in his features now. "Just s'prised me. Wasn't expectin' it."

"I'm sorry, really," Davey says again. He's always been careful not to touch Jack's ears or tail, a lifetime of being warned away from touch that can be misconstrued as 'petting' ringing in his skull. Jack is always the one to initiate those moments of contact, brief as they are, by fluttering an ear against the side of Davey's neck where he knows it tickles or smacking Davey's knee with his tail in rebuke. "I didn't even think about it. I won't touch your tail again, I promise."

Jack huffs a small laugh, his ears coming up from their defensive position slightly. "S'not that," he says. "Youse fine, Dave." He brings his tail around to his side, distractedly combing his fingers through it to smooth down the fur. Jack worries his lip before he meets Davey's gaze determinedly. "I just - got it hurt once when I was a kid. It's not that ya can't touch, just not so keen on it if I don't know it's coming, ya know?"

Davey doesn't even _need_ his journalistic intuition to tell him there's so much more to that story, the truth is so painfully evident in Jack's face. It's obviously more than just an old injury; even though he's usually careful to keep it close to him, Davey's seen Jack's tail touch things before, brushing against furniture or people's legs when he's nearby. No, it's specifically the contact of _hands_ on his tail that seems to scare Jack, and Davey's stomach turns over with theories as to why, each one worse than the last.

But he can also tell that Jack's opening up a lot already just by telling him this much, his expression tense and guarded. So Davey nods. "Right, yeah, that makes sense," he agrees. "Nothing worse than hands coming out of nowhere, right? Especially that close to your butt."

Jack laughs, his ears fully relaxing and the set of his shoulders dropping in relief. "Well, I mean, I'm not opposed to a li'l grope, if that's what youse suggestin'," he teases back playfully. Davey tries very hard not to blush, because damn if it's not a thought that's crossed his mind more than once. "Just maybe a bituva warnin' first?"

"That's fair," Davey says, smirking. He holds out his hand, helping Jack up off the floor. While they've been talking, the show has managed to already play through the title sequence they meant to skip, so Jack settles back into his spot beside Davey on the mattress. It's very quickly like nothing happened at all, both of them absorbed in the episode, Jack's arm draping around Davey's back, his thigh pressed against Davey's where his weight is pitched sideways as usual.

Except halfway through the episode, Jack's tail comes up to lay across his lap, and the end of it winds up on Davey's leg. The temptation is immediate, despite the earlier fiasco. Davey glances sideways and can see Jack watching him from the corner of his eye, and he receives a faint upturn of the lips and shallow nod of permission. So Davey, slowly and cautiously, reaches down to run his fingers along the length of fur.

Davey's always been a little fascinated by Jack's tail, by the disorganized jumble of colors and unmatched textures. Three-quarters of his tail is sleek, a dappled blend of black and brown patches, but the last few inches are a bright snowy white that's slightly denser. It's just like his ears with the tufts of stiff hairs at their tips, which have also always intrigued Davey. Most felisians that Davey's met have ears that are slightly rounded at the top like a housecat, but Jack's ears remind Davey more of a bobcat. It makes sense his tail would match that uniqueness.

The fur on his tail is softer than Davey expected as he cards his fingers through the white part. The black and brown coat is smooth and glossy, but there's a distinct fluffiness to the white, so different from the guard hairs on his ears. As Davey glides his fingers along the length, Jack's tail curls up loosely around his wrist. He's aware of the tension in Jack's body, can feel the stiffness to his muscles where they're sitting so close, so Davey says the first thing that comes to mind.

"It's pretty." Jack's ears snap forward, turning to look at Davey with an amused smirk. "I mean, the colors," Davey scrambles on, flustered. "I've just - I've never seen colors or markings like this before." He appraises Jack thoughtfully as the twist of fur coils across his fingers again. "It suits you."

Jack chuckles. "Well, that's a relief, 'cause I'm sorta stuck with it," he says. Still, his fingers brush softly over where they rest on Davey's ribs, and there's a sincerity behind his eyes that warms Davey's chest.

Their gazes drift back to the laptop screen, Jack leaning comfortably into Davey's side while Davey continues to toy with the felisian's tail in his lap. He's aware that he's being given something special in this moment; that Jack, the man who touches everyone and everything, is letting down this final barrier for him.

And although Davey doesn't comment on it, he also notices as he brushes a knuckle down the length of the tail that there's more than one small lump under the fur - lumps that feel suspiciously like the one in Davey's ankle where a broken bone healed slightly wrong.

"It's her," Davey says, nodding toward the screen abruptly. "She's the killer."

Jack scoffs, rolling his eyes skyward. "You're impossible, ya know that? Can't you just watch it and wait to find out at the end like a normal person?"

"So I'm right?" Davey asks, grinning.

"Didn't say that," Jack counters. His left ear flicks slightly, making Davey smirk. Jack might have a great poker face, but he's got terrible poker ears. "Oh shaddup, know-it-all," the felisian teases, his tail twitching up out of Davey's hand to smack him in the chest. "Dunno why I watch this show with ya, you take all the fun outta it."

Davey snorts. "You already know who it is anyway, it's not like I'm spoiling it for you." They fall back into comfortable bickering, and it's like nothing ever happened. Neither of them talks about the conversation about his tail, and they never address the topic in the days that follow.

That said, Davey still notes a slight change in the felisian's behavior. Jack is still as physically affectionate as always, and Davey quickly gets used to the arm around his shoulders or the hand on his knee or the swift, stolen kisses. But then other times, when it's just the two of them, Davey will feel a tail curl lazily over his knee or around the small of his back. One afternoon when they nod off curled up on the sofa in Jack's apartment, Davey wakes to Jack's tail draped over his hip. And Davey just smiles, gingerly stroking the white fur once before closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

Because while Jack touches everyone, Davey is the one with permission to touch back, and he knows that means something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Five Love Languages is an actual theory which comes from a book published in the 90s. It's typical self-help mumbo written by a relationship counselor, and while there's not exactly a ton of actual scientific evidence to back it up, it's been used as a stepping stone for a lot of psychological evaluation of relationships. I remember learning about it in an early psychology class and while it's definitely a flawed concept, I've always been intrigued by the general idea. (So yes, this is me projecting on Davey again. I relate; sue me.)


	3. Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting another chapter of this early because it's my birthday and I feel like it. Shorter and fluffier to counter the angst of the last (and upcoming) chapters.

After only three weeks into the semester, Davey has become a familiar fixture at the Banner Café. He hates to be alone in his dormitory, still not used to the solitude and quiet yet, but he has a hard time studying in the dorm lounge, which is usually populated by clusters of boisterous students having movie marathons or game nights. The café isn't silent, by any means, but it's a softer, ambient noisiness that Davey can tune out as white noise; idle chatter and low acoustic music and the hiss of coffee steamers.

So by the end of the third week, Davey knows almost the entire staff on a first name basis, and half of them have his coffee order memorized. He's settled into his preferred spot, a tall table beneath a window where there's plenty of light and room to stretch out his long legs. His textbooks are spread out on the tabletop, and a slowly cooling cinnamon cappuccino waits at his elbow. It would be the ideal situation for studying were it not for the distracting frisson on the back of his neck.

Davey rolls his eyes when the feeling resurfaces again like it has been off and on for the last hour. "Jack, your staring is making it really hard to study."

When he glances up at the counter, he's met by a bright amber stare full of mischief. Jack is leaning on the countertop, and he taps the open notebook in front of him pointedly. "I'm doin' my homework," the felisian objects, but his left ear flits. Davey's always been perceptive, and after spending so much time around Jack - nearly every day since their first date (and he'd be worried that he's coming off clingy if it weren't that Jack initiates it just as often as he does) - he can recognize a tell when he sees it.

"I can _feel_ you staring," Davey says, an unimpressed eyebrow arching up on his forehead.

"I'm not starin', I'm studying," Jack corrects, smirking. "You're not the only one got homework to do."

Snorting, Davey slides down off his stool and starts for the counter. (It's not like he's accomplishing any work at the moment anyway.) "And your homework requires you to stare at me?" he teases.

" _Study_ ," Jack rebuts, emphasizing the word, and drums his pencil against the notebook. Davey leans on the counter to look down at the page, and he feels his stomach flip over. It's a sketchpad, and the visible page is covered in a half-finished pencil drawing, the gray lines and smudges forming the outline of a face. Even only partially done and upside-down, Davey can recognize the features.

"You're drawing me?" Davey asks, and he's too awed by the talent to be self-conscious about being an unknowing model. "I didn't even know you could draw. Jack, this is amazing."

Jack shrugs and huffs, setting his forearms on top of the sketch. "It's just a doodle," he says. "I'm better with paintin'. But I gotta work on my portraits for sketchin' class, so I'm just practicin'."

"This is way better than practice," Davey says insistently. These moments always surprise him; for someone so confident and outgoing, Jack can be strangely insecure about certain things. It both amazes and baffles Davey every time he sees it happen. "I thought you were majoring in social work. Why aren't you studying art? You're really good."

"I'm minoring," Jack says offhand. "But it's not like ya can make a livin' as an artist. 'Sides, it's just a thing I do for fun, ya know? If I was doing it for work, that'd take the fun outta it."

"The latte art doesn't count?" Davey jokes because he can see the tension creeping up in Jack's shoulders.

Jack grins. "Eh, that's just an added perk," he says with a flippant hand wave. "Mostly use that for pickin' up cute, unsuspecting freshman." Davey laughs, rolling his eyes indulgently even as he feels heat start to creep up the back of his neck. "Nah, I thought about majoring in art, but I dunno, I wanna do something that'll help people. I had this social worker when I was a kid - well, I went through a couple, actually - but anyway, he was real good to me, helped me get back on the right track."

"Yeah?" Davey asks, curious. Jack doesn't talk about his past much, especially not of before he was taken in by his foster mother, but the few hints of it that Davey's gotten suggest it wasn't the most pleasant.

"Yeah, so I was thinking, if I can do that for someone else, ya know," Jack trails off and shrugs again. "Was even thinking about maybe setting up a studio on the side, teachin' art classes to help kids in bad places learn to, I dunno, express themselves?"

Davey smiles, nodding thoughtfully. "Like art therapy? That's a really cool idea," he agrees and doesn't miss the way Jack's ears tip forward, pleased. "But for what it's worth," he adds, "if this is what your practice doodles look like, I'd imagine you wouldn't have a problem making it as an artist either."

"Sweet talker," Jack says, flashing a teasing smile, but his tail is swaying eagerly behind him. The bell above the shop door makes him look up, and he hastily disguises a glimmer of annoyance. "Gotta get back to work," he says regretfully and leans across the counter to steal a kiss before straightening up.

Davey watches the felisian head over to the cash register, lips tingling. It's been an adjustment, this developing relationship, but it's been worth it. Every day, he discovers something new about Jack that only pulls him in further. For example... Davey slides the sketchbook closer again, spinning it around to be able to see the image right-side-up.

Looking beyond just his awe at Jack's talent, he actually surveys the drawing itself. The sketch shows Davey's face in profile, sunlight through the window behind him, shadows highlighting the lines of his cheeks and jaw. Davey's never thought he's a particularly attractive guy - not bad, just nothing special, really. Too long and lean, sharp edges and lanky limbs and a prominent nose. This face on the page, though, is almost _elegant_.

Is this how Jack sees him?

Blushing at the thought, Davey shoves away from the counter and goes back to his table. It won't hurt to get a little more of his homework done while Jack's preoccupied. Davey manages to make it through a few pages of his reading assignment before the prickle on the back of his neck tells him that he's being watched again. Biting his lip, Davey darts a sideways glance, and when he finds Jack staring at him, Davey sticks out his tongue.

"Oh, that's mature," Jack responds between giggles. "Just for that, I'mma draw ya a mustache."

(He does just that, smugly presenting Davey with a hasty sketch of him sporting a cartoonishly enormous handlebar mustache. They both laugh until there are tears in their eyes.

Davey keeps it anyway.)


	4. Defender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: One homophobic slur and some cussing, because our boys do like to get worked up. Also possibly a very vaguely ableist comment. (Just covering my bases, it's all still pretty tame.)

Considering the way that they met, it's a little surprising that it takes three weeks before Jack and Davey have their first fight. They are both headstrong and stubborn, but for the most part, any disagreements that crop up in those early days are over silly, inconsequential things - "ya gotta be kiddin' me, Dave, _everyone_ likes Romeo and Juliet. S'why it's a classic, ya grump," or "it's called jazz, Jacky, get a little culture, wouldja?"

Even their more serious arguments are generally for entertainment rather than actual disputes since both of them enjoy the thrill of arguing. Davey is used to serving as a debate partner for Sarah - who is pre-law at Harvard - and it turns out Jack was on his high school debate team "'cause Ma figured I was gonna fight with people either way, so might as well be able to put it on my college applications." More often than not, especially when discussing politics or societal norms, one will play devil's advocate because they actually agree and just want to play it out.

"Hey, Twinkie!"

Davey scoffs and rolls his eyes at the leering shout from outside the history building, getting used to ignoring the man by now. Truth be told, he's no stranger to teasing, and the obnoxious guy from his biology class is annoying but harmless. So Davey shrugs it off, the way he has every other time the guy catcalls, and keeps walking.

Or he would if it weren't for the felisian that stops him with a hand on the shoulder. The warm smile of greeting Jack was wearing only seconds ago is gone, his eyes narrowed and ears drawn back against his skull dangerously. "The hell's that, Dave?" Jack asks, voice low. "That prick givin' you trouble?"

"It's nothing," Davey says, brushing aside Jack's hand dismissively. "He's just some idiot from one of my classes."

"Unless there's some friendly backstory involvin' Hostess I dunno 'bout, him callin' ya that ain't _nothing_ ," Jack says and now his eyes - strikingly feral as the midmorning sun reduces his pupils to a narrow line - are fixed on Davey intently, scowling.

Unperturbed, Davey shrugs. "It's fine, Jack," he says. "It's one guy, and I've heard worse. He's just being stupid because I shot him down. Believe it or not, his pick-up lines are worse than yours."

Jack doesn't even acknowledge the attempt at a joke. "Don't give him rights to call ya names like that." The felisian's lips thin, eyes flicking to where the guy is laughing with a friend. Then, without another word, Jack turns and marches straight for the guy.

"Jack!" It takes Davey's brain a second to process what's happening, but once he does, his blood boils. Jaw clenched, he takes off after the felisian. " _Jack_!"

"-ain't very nice," Jack is saying to the guy when Davey catches up to him. Jack is standing in the guy's space, using his height to his advantage, and with his ears flat and lips drawn back to bare his longer-than-human canine teeth, he's an intimidating sight. "Ya wouldn't like it if folks went around shouting stuff like that at you, wouldja?"

"Who the fuck you think you are?" the guy snarls.

Davey shoves Jack's shoulder forcefully, trying to steer him away. "Jack, drop it."

"Next time you think 'bout yelling shit at folks, I suggest ya don't," Jack says to the guy, and his voice has dropped a register, picking up a faint rumble that's the closest Davey's ever heard to him growling.

"Fuck off, pussycat," the guy replies with a sneer. Then he gestures to his friend and they push off the wall, shoulder-checking Jack roughly as they pass. It isn't until they're several yards away that Jack's scowl relaxes, his ears easing back up into their natural place.

"What the hell, Jack?" Davey snaps furiously. Jack blinks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he takes in Davey's frown. "I told you to _drop it_."

Jack's posture immediately goes defensive, shoulders rising and arms folding over his chest. "I ain't gonna let some dick go 'round calling you stuff like that."

Davey huffs angrily and lifts his chin, heart hammering in his chest. "It's not _your_ business," he says. "I'm not some pushover that needs you to save me. So I don't know what kind of alpha-male bullshit that was, but I want none of it, got me?" And then Davey shoves past the stunned felisian and storms away, ignoring the bewildered, "Davey?" that echoes after him.

Forgoing lunch, Davey stomps all the way back to the dorm building. He fumbles his key and then slams the door open, alarming a pair of girls sitting in the first-floor rec space. Halfway to the stairs, he's stopped by a concerned, "Davey? You okay?"

Davey knew that Jack must be popular from the first day, with that easy charm and laid-back demeanor, so it didn't surprise Davey to discover that Jack has a lot of friends around campus. The part that Davey's still adjusting to, though, is the fact that suddenly _Davey_ has friends too. Every one of the people Jack's introduced Davey to have immediately accepted him into the group without question and the list of contacts in Davey's phone has doubled in less than a month.

One that Davey's especially hit it off with is Specs - (another thing Davey's found is that Jack's proclivity for nicknames isn't exclusively for family) - a tall dance major with a wry sense of humor who lives in Davey's building. Specs steps away from the battered foosball table, ignoring the protest of his teammate, and crosses the living space quickly. "What's up, man?"

"It's nothing," Davey says, waving a hand and attempting to school his expression back into something more neutral. "Bad day."

Specs snorts. "Try again. You practically have a cartoon thundercloud over your head." Davey shakes his head, trying to find a way to brush the topic aside. The other man seems to read something in Davey's face though because he smirks. "Oh, I get it. It's Jack, huh? And you don't wanna bitch about Jack to his friends."

Davey grudgingly smiles, dragging a hand through his hair. "Are you sure you're not a psych major?"

"Nah, just known Jack a long time," Specs says. Davey knows he's not exaggerating that; Specs and Jack went to the same high school, so he's the only one of Jack's college friends who knows him from before NYU. "And you two are a lot alike. Loyal to the point of being kinda stupid about it. But really, if anyone's gonna getcha about Jack being an ass, it'd be me. So what'd he do this time?"

"I told him not to," Davey says, his patience breaking in the face of Specs' knowing gaze. "There's this stupid guy who's been calling me out because I turned him down. It's nothing big, just stupid names and stuff, nothing I've never heard before. But Jack decides he needs to go and be all alpha-male white knight and save me, even after I told him to leave it alone."

Specs hums in understanding. "So you felt like Jack was treating you like some kinda damsel in distress," he concludes. "Like you can't fight your own battles or something, right?"

"It shouldn't even have _been_ a battle," Davey tacks on emphatically. "It was stupid, just one guy and one stupid name. It's not even worth getting worked up about, but he turned it into some big deal."

"Yeah, sounds 'bout right," Specs says, distractedly nodding. He appraises Davey thoughtfully and pushes his wire-framed glasses back into place with the back of his wrist. "That's the thing with Jack. He doesn't walk away from a fight, even when there isn't a fight. It's not - so Jack looks out for people he cares about, that's just his thing. But it's more than that. He sees someone in trouble, it's like he can't _not_ do something.

"Like, so there was this thing back in high school, kid getting picked on. And it wasn't just students, ya know? A couple teachers were giving this kid shit too. He had some sort of disability, not autism but something like it, I dunno the name. He was a dick ninety-percent of the time, honestly, more likely to tell you to fuck off than say hi. So most of us, we were fine just lettin' it go, because it wasn't like the kid seemed to care and he didn't want help anyway.

"But not Jack. He starts standing up for the kid against other students, even though the kid told him to leave him alone. Got into a shouting match with a gym teacher over it. And when folks didn't stop, you bet your ass Jack took it all the way up to the school board," Specs says with an amused shake of his head. "Got the school to enforce their discipline policy for bullying, got them to put out new rules for dealing with special needs kids. The gym teacher almost lost his job over it. It caused a helluva uproar, lemme tell ya."

"That's nice and all," Davey says, "but that doesn't give him the right to go around picking fights on my behalf."

Specs holds up his hands in surrender. "I didn't say it does," he says. "I'm just saying, for Jack, it's not defending people because he wants to be the hero. There's more to it than that. And maybe you should let him explain that." Specs gestures over Davey's shoulder, and when Davey follows his gaze, he sees Jack lingering outside the dormitory doors. The felisian is fussing with his phone, his ears drooping and tail whipping in frenetic bursts.

"If you need more time to cool off, I'll go talk to him," Specs offers at the sudden tension in Davey's spine. "It's cool, I totally get it. But you're the first date Jack's bothered to introduce to me since we were sixteen, so I figure you must be the real deal. So maybe don't give up on him just yet?"

Later, Davey will think over that statement more. He'll obsess about it for a couple hours, and then he'll track Specs down and pepper him with questions until he elaborates on just what that meant. But for right now, he takes it at face value. His gaze falls on the miserable-looking felisian pacing on the sidewalk outside at the same time that his phone goes off in his pocket, announcing a string of texts.

Davey sighs. "Watch my backpack for a minute?" he asks hopefully, glancing to Specs. The other man nods and accepts the bag, huffing at the weight of it, and then returns to the foosball table to rejoin their game. Squaring his shoulders, Davey takes a deep breath and walks out of the dorms.

"Davey," Jack says, spotting him immediately, and his ears perk slightly. "Hey, I just texted-"

"Jack," Davey cuts across him, because damn it if Jack's uncertain expression isn't doing a number on Davey's righteous anger and he's got to get this out. "Look, I'm not taking back what I said. I don't need someone stepping in to defend me. I've dealt with the alpha-male type before, and I can't stand it. I'm my own person, I can fight my own battles, and I don't need someone to protect me."

"Course not," Jack says, and the conviction in his tone catches Davey off guard. The felisian's brow is pulled down into a concentrated frown, tail twitching in agitation. "Shit, Davey, it's - it wasn't about you _needing_ anything, s'just about doing what's right. 'Cause sure, you can take it, maybe it really don't bother you. But guys like that don't stop. So when it don't work on you, he finds someone else, and maybe that person _can't_ take it. And the only way to make sure that don't happen is to stop it 'fore it gets that far, ya know?"

Davey opens and closes his mouth twice, surprised and slightly dumbfounded. He licks his lips, disoriented by the determined look on Jack's face, and that journalistic instinct is telling him once again that there's more; something more to this story than he's getting right now. "I didn't - I guess I've never thought about it like that," he admits. "But Jack, you know getting up in a guy's face isn't going to magically stop him from being a dick. If anything, it might make him worse."

Jack chuckles weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know," he says, shrugging. "I know I ain't gonna fix the world or nothing. But just 'cause it might not stop them doesn't mean ya shouldn't bother trying, ya know?"

"I guess, yeah," Davey agrees dazedly. He sighs, letting his head fall back as he wills away the rising stress headache. When he lifts his head again, Jack is watching him, and although his expression and posture are obviously meant to be casual, his ear flutters slightly and his tail is held perfectly still against the back of his leg. He's tense, anxious and waiting and trying not to give anything away.

Davey lets out a heavy breath and nods. "Okay, rule number one: No-"

"Two."

"What?"

"This'd be rule two," Jack says, lips quirking in a hint of deviousness despite his expression of innocence. "Rule one was that thing 'bout biting, remember?"

"Don't be a smartass when I'm mad at you," says Davey, rolling his eyes. (Still, he can't stop his fingers from drifting to the side of his neck as he remembers the mark that prompted _that_ conversation. Turns out felisians leave rather distinctive hickeys because of their longer teeth, and it had been an awkward couple days of knowing looks and wearing collared shirts despite the heat. Judging by the way Jack licks his lips, the felisian knows exactly what he's thinking.)

Shaking his head, Davey pulls his brain back on track. "Okay then, rule _two_ , no picking fights on my behalf. You're right," he hurries on when Jack opens his mouth, "and yeah, maybe Oscar needs to be put in his place, but not like that. I'll deal with it. But if, by some crazy happenstance, it does come down to a fight, I won't say no to the backup."

Jack smiles, recognizing the olive branch for what it is, and his ears flick up to their alert position. "Davey Jacobs in a scuffle," he remarks, eyebrow raised. "Now that I'd like to see."

"I played varsity soccer in high school, remember?" Davey replies, a grin of his own stealing across his face. "Matches get heated; I've been in a fight or two. I think between the two of us, we could manage. Right, wrestling boy?"

Chuckling, Jack shoves Davey's shoulder playfully. "Think we'd make a good team," he concedes. "A'right, I get it, no punchin' folks without your say-so. I just-" He worries his lower lip beneath an eye tooth and takes a steadying breath. "You're a good guy, Davey, and I know you _can_ take it, but that don't mean you should _have_ to. You deserve better than that."

Davey groans and he grabs a fistful of Jack's shirt, dragging the startled felisian into a kiss. "Stop being sweet, it's making it really hard to be mad at you."

"Oh, my bad," Jack says sarcastically, but his smile is pleased. His hand slides down Davey's side to grasp his hip, tugging him a little closer. "Buy ya lunch to make up for it?"

"Lemme grab my bag from Specs," Davey says and he digs out his key to let himself back into the dorm building. Specs instantly glances up from the foosball table with a conspiratorial grin. "Thanks," Davey says, picking up his backpack from near Specs' feet. "For the bag and, you know, everything else."

Specs smiles, nodding. "I got your back, homie," he teases, but there's a heavier sincerity in his eyes. "You better go before Jack gets sidetracked by butterflies or something. And that's not a felisian joke, by the way, he just legit has like zero attention span."

Davey laughs, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and he claps Specs on the back as he heads out of the dorms. When he spots Jack squinting up into a tree nearby, he can't bite back his smile. "What're you doing?"

Jack darts a quick glance his way and then back up to the tree. "Thought I saw a squirrel run up there," he says, head cocked curiously. His ears are tipped forward, attentive, and his tail poised in the shape of a question mark. Davey has to bite his knuckles to stop his laughter.

"If that's what you're doing for lunch, I think I'll just go to the caf instead," Davey jokes.

Jack's tail lashes and he smirks as he slings an arm over Davey's shoulders. "You're a li'l shit, ya know that?"

"I've been told," says Davey, grinning. "But you know, I was thinking, maybe we could just grab something from the caf shop for lunch and take it back to my dorm. Watch a movie or something."

"Oh yeah?" Jack asks, and the mischief behind his smile says he's caught onto the subtext.

"Well, I mean, I know it wasn't exactly a knock-down drag-out, but this _could_ qualify as a first fight," Davey points out. "And if so, we're due a little make-up make-out, right?"

The felisian laughs so hard he stumbles into Davey's side, the arm around his shoulders the only thing keeping Jack upright. His eyes are sparking when he licks his lips and glances skyward. "Christ, Davey, I'm startin' to think I'm the one gonna need savin' from _you_ at this rate."

Davey snorts. "No one's making you stay," he counters. "You can leave anytime you want."

And there's something striking in the look that Jack fixes him with at that, a sudden weight beneath the bright amber that makes Davey's breath catch in his chest. Jack's arm settles more comfortably across Davey's back, the two of them walking so close together that Jack's tail occasionally tangles around Davey's calves. "Yeah, guess so," Jack agrees. "But where's the fun in that?"


	5. Senses

An abrupt snort of amusement makes Davey glance up from his book. He's stretched out on the grass in a campus courtyard, taking advantage of the good weather and gap between his two classes for the day to get ahead on his reading assignments. Lying on his stomach next to him, Jack is sketching a city skyline, but there's a smirk on his lips. "What's funny?" Davey asks curiously.

Jack looks up, brow furrowed, and then he chuckles. "Oh, nothin', just heard somethin' funny," he says, and that's when Davey notes that one of his ears is swiveled around almost backward. Davey raises an eyebrow in question. "Fella over there's gettin' yelled at by his girl. Got caught textin' another girl, and his excuses are funny."

Davey smiles, but his gaze drifts up to follow the direction of Jack's ear. It's midmorning on a Tuesday, so this part of campus isn't horribly crowded, and it takes Davey a second to spot the arguing couple on the far side of the courtyard - easily three hundred feet away. Davey lets out a huff of disbelief. It's common knowledge that felisians have more advanced senses than standard humans, but somehow the actual evidence of it always leaves Davey stunned.

"You can seriously hear them?" Davey asks, awed.

Jack darts a glance toward the couple and then back to Davey, his expression vaguely uncertain. "I mean, yeah, kinda," he agrees, shrugging. "Mostly 'cause she's yellin'. She's _real_ pissed."

Davey exhales, grinning. "That's incredible." Jack seems surprised by that, but he merely shrugs again and goes back to his sketch with a soft smile.

It's always little things like that that crop up, small reminders that Jack experiences the world at a different level than Davey will ever fully understand. The felisian will hum along to music from several rooms away, or wrinkle up his nose at scents Davey doesn't notice. He can occasionally be a picky eater because he can taste when food has too many chemicals in it (although this one just means that, by association, Davey cuts back on how many processed foods he eats, which is probably a good thing all around.)

For the most part, it's easy to take Jack's heightened senses in stride. Sometimes it'll make Davey self-conscious when Jack can tell some detail about him that he didn't think about, like smelling when he changes soap or what he ate for lunch. Other times, it sets Davey's insides on fire, like Jack's fascination with the pulse point on Davey's neck (which he eventually admits is because "it's where ya taste the most, I dunno, like _you_.")  But most of the time, it's just entertaining, like when Jack will relay funny conversations he overhears or secret details he notices about other people.

Of course, felisian senses have their downsides as well. For instance, while felisian eyes might have better focus and night vision than standard humans, this comes with the inconvenience of slightly poorer color perception, as Jack grouses over his art history homework one evening. "Renaissance painters must'a hated felisians. They's speciesist."

Davey snorts, glancing up from his laptop. "First of all, felisians are not a different _species_ ," he counters pointedly, jabbing Jack's leg with his foot. "Secondly, the earliest cases of felisian mutations weren't even reported until the late 1800s, centuries after the Renaissance. And thirdly, _what_?"

"Sometimes it weirds me out how you know so much 'bout felisian history," Jack says, giving Davey a thoughtful look. "Startin' to think you got a kink or somethin'."

"I'm a journalist, Jack," Davey reminds him with a smirk. "Facts are sort of my thing. I'm a fount of useless knowledge. You should see me play Jeopardy."

Jack laughs, rolling his eyes at the joke. "A'right, fine," he says. He glances down at the textbook open in his lap and huffs irritably, dragging a hand through his hair. "I just - what they got against usin' color?"

"That bad?" Davey asks sympathetically. In response, Jack holds out his textbook. The painting depicted on the page is one Davey recognizes, [Napoleon riding a rearing horse](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/fd/David_-_Napoleon_crossing_the_Alps_-_Malmaison2.jpg), but for the first time, Davey actually pays attention to the color scheme. All of the colors in the painting apart from the stark white of the horse are muted and flat, with very little shadowing, everything tinted to look a bit dingy and old.

"S'all _brown_ ," Jack complains, slumping back in the sofa cushions in defeat. "I mean, I know it's not, but it kinda looks it. Would it kill 'em to at least try to make the colors look diff'rent?"

Davey brushes his fingertips over the general's billowing scarlet cape. From what he understands, felisian eyes have about a quarter fewer cones (the part that processes color) than standard humans', and that lack is largely in the red cones, so their vision skews toward blue and green. It's not enough to qualify them as color blind, per se, but it does make it harder to differentiate similar colors. "To be honest, it looks pretty brown to me too," Davey says with a shrug. "But I'm probably not the best judge, I've never really 'got' art. I know I like Van Gogh."

"Mm, good choice," says Jack, grinning. "That's a man who knew how to use colors right." He lets the textbook fall heavily into his lap, slumping against Davey's shoulder lazily. "I need a break. Next chapter's 'bout Rembrandt and his stuff's all dark and borin' portraits. Hungry?"

Aside from the color distortions, the other biggest downside of Jack's heightened senses makes itself known on a random Thursday. Davey is feeling a little breathless as he climbs the stairs - he clearly needs to pick up his running again; but then, even at the height of his soccer career, twenty flights of stairs would still be daunting. Jack's building is old, and it's easy to see the areas where additional floors have been built over time as the city grew, but apparently, no one thought to include an elevator in any of those improvements.

Davey's thighs are burning slightly when he finally reaches the heavy steel door marked ' **ROOF** ,' and he adjusts his grip to reach out and turn the door handle the wrong direction like Race told him. The metal whines a bit as the broken handle twists, and he hauls back on the door. Beyond is an expanse of gravel dotted with vents and aerials and other ductwork, the whole thing surrounded by a low wall of concrete. In the middle of the roof, Jack is scrambling to his feet, but he only gets halfway before he pauses.

"Davey?" the felisian says, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Hey, sorry, I hope you don't mind," Davey says, hesitating self-consciously just passed the door. "Race told me you were up here, but I can leave if you-"

Jack cuts him off with a laugh, waving a hand flippantly. "Oh, no, s'fine," he says. He flops back onto the blanket he's got spread out on the gravel and gestures for Davey to join him. "Just thought you was the Super. Not really s'posed to be up here, I don't think. Whatcha doin'?"

"I brought ice cream," says Davey, holding up the little cartons he picked up on his way to the building. Jack's eyes light up. Davey lets out a relieved breath and crosses over to the spot Jack's claimed. There's a slightly ratty quilt laid out on the roof, a patchwork of different shades of denim backed by a patterned flannel that has the soft, well-worn look of a loved treasure.

Jack rolls over onto his stomach, propping his weight up on his elbows, and offers a smile. "Welcome ta' my penthouse," he says with a grand gesture, patting the blanket next to him in invitation. Davey snorts, amused, and he shrugs off his backpack before sitting down.

"Mint chocolate," Davey says, handing over one of the ice creams.

"Jacobi's?" the felisian grins when his gaze lands on the name printed on the side of the carton. "Told ya he's got the best ice cream."

Davey rolls his eyes as he reaches for his backpack, plucking the plastic spoons from the front pocket where he stowed them. "Nobody likes a know-it-all," he says, passing the spoon over. From this close, he can tell that despite the felisian's usual attempt at casual humor, there are faint shadows under his eyes and tense lines carved into his brow.

Jack laughs. "That's rich comin' from you," he replies, eyes sparkling playfully. Davey shoves his shoulder. Jack pries the top off his carton, and then his spoon hesitates a second above the ice cream.

"Dairy-free," Davey says immediately. Jack smiles and enthusiastically scoops a spoonful of ice cream; like their cat counterparts, most felisians are lactose intolerant. It's the real reason Davey stopped at the little shop Jack introduced him to the second week of term, because Jacobi's is one of the few places nearby that offers dairy-free alternatives. "So," Davey prompts curiously, dragging a spoon through his Neapolitan ice cream, "what're you doing up here?"

"Just gettin' some air," Jack says, shrugging, and he doesn't look up from his ice cream. One ear flutters before he folds them back to still them.

Davey bites his lip, stretching out on his stomach to mirror Jack's position. "I'll be honest," he says, "when Race told me you come up here when you don't feel great, I wasn't sure what to expect."

Jack chuckles and shoots a quick sideways glance at him. "M'fine, Dave," he says. "Just needed to get away from everythin a sec." His tail drapes across the back of Davey's thigh, a silent acknowledgment of Davey's concern. "S'the city," he admits after a minute, staring thoughtfully at his spoon. "S'just so loud sometimes, ya know?"

Tipping his head, Davey listens. It's not as loud up here, but he can still hear the constant buzz and honks and hums of traffic from the road below, and he thinks that might be a car alarm nearby. The incessant noise is finally starting to feel familiar to Davey; his hometown isn't small, by any means, but it's practically quaint in comparison to downtown Manhattan. For the first week or two, Davey almost couldn't think straight through the endless noise.

And his hearing is only about a fifth of Jack's.

"How do you handle it?" Davey asks, awed. "I never thought about it, but you can hear so much. How do you handle all of that input all the time?"

Sucking at his ice cream, Jack gives Davey an appraising look. It's an expression Davey's starting to recognize, the one that means Jack's deciding whether to play it off or let Davey in on some more private part of him. "S'not so bad, most the time," the felisian says. "I mean, been this way my whole life, so I'm used to it. Can sort of filter it, ya know? Tune it out, like white noise. Same with the smells and stuff."

Davey winces. "Ew, I didn't even think about how bad the city must smell to you."

"Summer's worst," Jack agrees, scrunching up his nose. "The heat makes it all muggy. But most times, I can handle it. Used to it, like I said. I grew up around here, ya know, before Ma moved us out to Long Island." Davey's eyebrows rise; he _didn't_ know that. Jack licks his lips and his ears flit. "Just, harder to focus some days. Too much at once. So I come up here."

"Can't you still hear it all from up here?" Davey asks curiously.

"Sure, can always hear it," the felisian says, and the furrows in his brow deepen like he's wincing. "S'just easier up here. Like it's not right next to my head. Can separate the sounds with a li'l distance. Us'lly enough to stop me gettin' a migraine if I don't let it go too long."

Davey distractedly scrapes the ice cream from the bottom of his carton. "I'm sorry, that's got to suck," he says, nudging his shoulder against Jack's.

"Eh, just one'a the perks of bein' a pretty kitty," Jack teases, and Davey can see his tail swaying playfully in the corner of his vision. For a second, Davey considers calling him on the comment, but he can identify a defense mechanism when he sees it. Just like the roof is how he distances himself from the city noise, his jokes are how Jack distances himself from emotions that are getting too deep.

"So, what can you hear?" Davey asks. Jack raises an eyebrow, ears pivoting to Davey attentively. "You said unpacking the sounds individually helps you process them, right? So what all can you hear? 'Cause to me it's just - honking, mostly."

Jack laughs. He sets aside his empty ice cream carton and shifts his weight slightly to his other side, resting his chin in one hand to look at Davey. "There's lotsa that," he says, ears swiveling as they search out sounds. "A cabbie is shoutin' at someone out his window for cuttin' him off. Oh, it's a guy on a bike he's yellin' at, and wow, that's rude. Ain't gonna repeat what he said, s'just nasty. Uh, the apartment two floors down has a window open, I can hear the dogs playing. Sounds like a puppy and an older one. The older one's getting annoyed, I think, the barks are a bit snappish."

Davey stretches out on his back, listening to Jack list off the various things he can hear. The felisian's eyes drift shut as he tilts his head either direction to focus on sounds. It's amazing for Davey, discovering all of the things that Jack can pick up from the environment around them that are outside Davey's range of understanding. Conversations through cracked windows, a car on the street having engine trouble, the scent of the dinner being cooked in the apartment one building over.

"Thanks, Dave," Jack says out of nowhere. Surprised, Davey tips his head to look up at the felisian's face in the growing dark. It's never calm in Manhattan, of course, but there's something almost peaceful about this little patch of roof, shielded from the majority of the streetlamps and neon signs. In the shadows of late evening, Jack's pupils are enormous as he gazes back at Davey, wide enough to almost be mistaken for standard human eyes.

"For what?" Davey asks.

Jack shrugs, a small smile stealing across his face. "I dunno, for just bein' here I guess," he says. "For the ice cream. For helpin' me focus. For spending a couple hours sitting on an uncomfortable roof listenin' to me yammer about nothing."

Davey grins, reaching up to brush at a curl of hair that's sticking up on Jack's forehead. "Like you don't listen to me talk about nonsense all the time," he replies. "Besides, I get it. I used to get panic attacks when I was younger, and that's a thing that always helped me. Breaking things down, focusing on them one at a time. It's not the same, but, you know." He trails off with a self-conscious shrug.

"Well, still," Jack says, and he scoots forward on his elbows until he's leaning over Davey, "thanks." And he leans down to capture Davey's lips in a short, soft kiss. When he pulls back, the lights from the next building catch in the fur around the edges of his ears, turning them gold. Jack smiles, and the lines in his face seem softer. "M'kay, I dunno 'bout you, but I could do with some real dinner," he says. "And a handful of Tylenol. Hungry?"

Laughing, Davey nods. "Sure, I could eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who actually does suffer from partial colorblindness, all art from before the Impressionists' era is so - _ugh_! I mean I try not to be an art snob, and I know that the materials of the time didn't allow for the same vibrancy that can be accomplished today, but it still sucks.
> 
> The line about being a "fount of useless knowledge" is actually one that's been used on me before, because I am one of those people who might have zero street sense but knows a strange, obscure fact about everything.


	6. +1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the second thing I ever wrote for this AU series, so I'm so excited to finally share this with you guys. Enjoy!

It's still a strange and unfamiliar thing to get used to, but the quiet moments like this are somehow Davey's favorite part of his burgeoning new relationship with Jack Kelly. For all the times they've gone out and done things - dinner and movies and other typical college dates - there are just as many evenings that find them sprawled on Jack's sofa or in Davey's dorm room, both working on homework with the occasional pause for talking that almost inevitably evolves into kissing. There's a blissful comfort in simply existing in the same space, the easy banter that has become their primary form of communication between them.

At the moment, they are both stretched out on the floor of Davey's dorm, taking refuge from the September afternoon heat, a last surge of summer before autumn properly sinks in its claws. Davey is lying on his stomach, typing half-heartedly at his English paper, while Jack is curled up in front of him, sketching in the margins of the notes he's supposed to be reviewing. Of course, this sight is only _more_ distracting for Davey, who finds he's spending more time examining the almost raptorial focus of Jack's topaz eyes than the principle concepts of narrative structure.

Davey blames this for the reason that he isn't paying attention when the chime on his screen makes him jump, his hand coming down on the enter key before his brain even processes the familiar tone of a Skype request. The video pops open over the top of his half-written paper, picture pixelated for a minute before his shitty dorm internet catches up and downloads the entire image.

"Davey!"

"Hey, Les," Davey responds, unable to stop his smile as his little brother's voice crackles through the laptop's tiny speakers. Over the computer screen, Davey sees Jack's head raise curiously, his ears snapping forward the way they do when something's caught his attention. Davey gives him a quick, apologetic look before his gaze darts back down to the screen. "What's up, buddy?"

"I dunno, just wanted to say hi," Les chirps.

Davey chuckles. "I just talked to you like two days ago," he points out.

"I know, but I miss you," Les says with all of the shameless unselfconsciousness of a nine-year-old. Not that Davey really knows; he was always the shy one, never self-assured the way his siblings are. "It's _so boring_ without you and Sarah. When are you comin' home?"

"I'll be back for Mom's birthday," Davey reminds him. "You can make it three more weeks, right?" Les groans dramatically, attempting to give Davey a pathetic pout through the slightly lagging video. With his wide, yellow-green eyes and the too-large triangles of tawny-brown fur drooping slightly, it's horrifyingly effective; the felisian equivalent of a sad puppy-dog look. "Don't gimme that look," Davey says, laughing. "You know it doesn't work on me. Alright, bud, I love talking to you, but I've got company so-"

"You do?" Davey feels like he should probably be offended by the blatant surprise in Les' voice, clearly shocked that his awkward older brother has people over. Then Les' eyes brighten, and he grins, bearing three sharp canines (he lost the last baby one over the summer, and the new one hasn't finished growing in yet). "Ooh, is it the guy you were tellin' me about? The cute one that makes coffee?"

"You were tellin' him about me?" Jack interjects curiously before Davey can open his mouth.

As Davey glances back and forth from Les' eager face to Jack's amused smirk, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole and spare him the humiliation of this moment. When the powers-that-be don't see fit to answer his prayer, Davey takes a deep breath to steel himself. "Jack, you wanna come meet my little brother?"

"Dumb question," Jack says, pushing up off the floor. Les must hear the response because he lets out the high, chittering sound he makes whenever he gets excited. Ears slanting forward, Jack freezes, obviously recognizing the noise for what it is. He meets Davey's eyes in shock and Davey flinches, not knowing how to explain and especially not in front of Les.

A second later, Jack's schooled his features back into his usual casual confidence like nothing happened. He finishes crossing the room and sits down at Davey's shoulder, leaning in to see the screen. "Jack, meet Les," Davey says, gesturing toward the video. "And Les, this is Jack."

"The cute one that makes coffee," Jack chips in, tossing a smirk at Davey, who can feel his ears burning. "Hey, kiddo, nice to meet you. Davey talks about you a lot."

"You too," Les says, and even in the pixelated stream, it's obvious the way his pupils have rounded with enthusiasm. "Like, _all the time_."

"Oh my God, someone just kill me already," Davey whispers under his breath, deliberately not looking in Jack's direction so he doesn't have to see the smug grin he knows the felisian will be wearing. If his blush gets any worse, Davey's pretty sure spontaneous combustion is in his immediate future. Les must not hear him, but Jack does because he snorts and bumps Davey with his knee.

"Are you gonna come with Davey when he visits for Mom's birthday?" Les asks eagerly, and Davey's nerves promptly decide that's all the awkward he can handle for one conversation.

"Okay, bud, I seriously gotta go," Davey cuts in, shoving aside the guilt he feels when Les' face falls. "I got homework I really need to finish. But I'll call later when I'm done, okay?"

"Fine," Les says with a put-upon sigh. "But you gotta promise."

Smiling, Davey draws an X over his heart with a finger. "Promise," he says with all the sincerity he can muster while Jack is barely concealing his laughter beside him. "Talk to you later."

"Bye Davey and Jack," Les says, waving so energetically that the video stream turns into just a blur of flesh-tone for a moment, and then it cuts to black as the call ends.

The silence seems to echo in the room after that, Davey not daring to turn and face Jack yet, and the tension stretches out for a long minute until- "The cute one that makes coffee?"

"Ugh, shut up," Davey groans, dropping his face into his hands. "That is _not_ how I phrased it."

"Nah, I like it," Jack chuckles. "Best way I've ever been described, really."

"That's 'cause you're an ass," Davey mutters without lifting his head, sending Jack into a proper laughing fit. Still, he feels Jack's wide palm smoothing along his spine in a clearly comforting gesture, and Davey melts despite himself. He really wants nothing more than to collapse into Jack's chest and forget that the entire embarrassing conversation happened, but he knows there's something that needs to be addressed first. "You can ask, you know," he permits quietly.

Jack hums. "Figure I'd just letcha say it when youse ready." That tugs a smile out of Davey - Jack's latent New York accent resurfacing is a sure sign he's distracted, but it's also just strangely adorable. Davey draws his knees up to his chest, folding his arms on top of them. "Course I on'y say that 'cause I know youse gonna say," Jack adds, and Davey can hear the grin, "'cause the curiosity's gonna literally kill me if you don't. But, ya know, when youse ready..."

Laughing, Davey finally dares a glance at Jack. The felisian's eyes are surprisingly soft as they watch Davey's profile, and his hand is settled warm and steady against the curve of Davey's spine. Davey lets out a slow breath. "He's technically my half-brother."

"Your folks split?" Jack prompts.

Davey shakes his head. "He died. My birth dad, I mean," he explains, fidgeting with his sleeve. "Sarah and I were barely a year old when it happened - a stupid, freak accident at work, a truck lost control."

"I'm so sorry," Jack murmurs, dropping his chin onto Davey's shoulder and molding himself closer to his side.

"It's fine," Davey says, shrugging. "I mean, not fine, obviously, but _I'm_ fine. I wasn't even old enough to remember him, I only know about him from pictures and stories from Mom. Anyway, we were about seven when Dad - my step-dad, I mean, Mayer - moved in down the hall from us. Sarah likes to give herself credit for introducing them, even though she didn't do it on purpose. She just saw something fluffy passing and reached out to grab it, and that _something fluffy_ happened to be Mayer's tail."

Jack snorts appreciatively. "That's one way to make a first impression."

Davey grins, self-deprecating when he responds, "At least it's better than screaming in someone's face, right?"

"I dunno, heard that one turned out pretty okay in the end," Jack says with a smirk. "So your Ma got hitched to the kitty down the hall?"

Chuckling at the phrasing, Davey nods. "They were just friends for a while. He would babysit when Mom had to pick up extra shifts at the hospital. Then he started staying over for dinner or coming with when we went to the movies or the park, stuff like that. Didn't even notice the difference when he officially moved in. Honestly, he was around so much, it's harder to remember a time he _wasn't_ there. One day we were a family of three, the next we were four, like nothing." Davey smiles fondly. "I don't know, he's just always been Dad to me, even before he adopted us and made it official."

"That's sweet," Jack says, and he almost manages to hide the note of longing in his voice as he says it. Davey reaches out and takes Jack's free hand, tangling their fingers together. Jack has only brushed across the basics of the story, but Davey knows he was a foster child, that he bounced between quite a few homes before he ended up with the family he has now. Davey can't even imagine what that must've felt like - to feel so _expendable_ \- and it makes him feel guilty, talking about his unusual but happy family in light of what Jack's been through.

When the silence stretches for a few seconds, Davey glances sideways anxiously. Jack's rarely quiet, and when he is, it's usually because he's up in his head. Sure enough, Jack's eyes are focused on some middle distance, ears drawn halfway back, and he's chewing at his lower lip. "Jack?" Davey ventures.

"Why'd ya never say?" Jack says, his gaze flicking up to meet Davey's, and behind those amber eyes is something Davey's only gotten fleeting glimpses of in the past: insecurity. "Just, you always say you know otha felisians, but you never said they's your family. I just - I guess I don't get it."

And all at once, Davey sees it. He can see what it must look like from Jack's perspective and the pieces all slot into place. Davey's picked up on hints of it before now, the flippant, self-deprecating comments and the veiled attempts at humor. The revelation sends a sharp pain through Davey's chest; there's some part of Jack, however deeply buried it might be, that's _ashamed_ of being felisian.

And now he thinks Davey's ashamed of being related to felisians.

"I love my family," Davey says, voice firm, turning to face Jack directly. "Mayer is the best thing that ever could've happened to my family, and I wouldn't trade him or Les for anything. I didn't say anything because talking about it reminds me _I'm_ different."

Jack's brow furrows, a confused frown tugging at his lips. "I don't know, it's stupid," Davey continues, shrugging. "I just - having to explain to people why my brother's felisian and I'm not, it just reminds me that Mayer's _not_ my real dad. That no matter how real it feels to me, 'cause he's the only dad I've ever know, it doesn't change the fact I'm not really Mayer's kid."

"Hey, hey." Jack's voice is soft, shushing him, and it isn't until Jack brushes a thumb along Davey's cheekbone that he realizes a tear has escaped. Davey hastily drags his wrist over his eyes, embarrassed. "Hey," Jack says, meeting Davey's eyes. "Don't you _ever_ let folks tell you family gotta be blood." He says it with absolute conviction, his jewel-bright eyes sparking fiercely, and it takes Davey's breath away. Of course Jack - who was part of a dozen families before finding one to keep as his own - would understand that.

"I told you it was stupid," Davey mutters self-consciously, ducking his head.

Jack chuckles and wraps his arms around Davey, pulling him against his chest. Davey goes without complaint, head falling onto one of Jack's broad shoulders, hiding from his heavy thoughts in the warmth of Jack's skin. "Yeah, kinda stupid," Jack agrees teasingly, "but not for the reasons youse thinkin'." Davey smiles against Jack's collar. "I'm relieved, honestly," Jack continues, and his tone now is pure mischief. "'Cause the way you always know so much 'bout felisians and stuff, I was gettin' jealous, thinkin' maybe there was another tomcat 'fore me."

Davey laughs and rolls his eyes at the comment, but his heart winces at the same time, recognizing the slight bitterness beneath the casual joke. He doesn't understand how this incredible, fascinating person can be ashamed of any facet of what makes him who he is, because there's not a thing about Jack Kelly that Davey would change if given a choice. But Davey doesn't say that; they've only known each other a little more than a month now, it's too soon for those kinds of things.

Instead, Davey reaches up to tweak the tuft of fur at the tip of Jack's ear and grins when the felisian flutters them in response, nose wrinkled. "Jack Kelly, _jealous_?" he jokes. "Now that'd be the day."

"I ain't good at sharin'," Jack says with an impish grin, all the more dangerous for the glint of his canines. Davey hates to admit what that smile does to him, although something about the light in Jack's eyes says he has an idea. "I like bein' the only one."

Davey laughs. "Oh trust me, there's no one like you, Jack," he says, and it comes out a bit more fondly than he means for it to, but it's worth it for the way Jack's tail sways in satisfaction.

Then, before Davey can see it coming, Jack _pounces_. Davey grunts when his back hits the floor but the sound is lost in Jack's lips, and he can feel the felisian smiling before Jack deepens the kiss. Not that Davey's going to complain or anything; Jack's unfairly good at this.

It's several minutes later when Jack pulls back, breathing hard and grinning. His pupils have blown wide, perfect circles of black in the middle of clear amber, and he surveys Davey's face with approval; Davey imagines he probably looks just as flushed and disheveled as Jack does at this point, if not more. "Should pro'lly letcha get back to your paper," Jack says, but when he makes to move away, Davey grabs his waist to stop him. Jack glances down at him, eyebrow cocked. "Thought you told your brother you gotta finish your homework?" he asks playfully.

Davey shoots a quick look at his laptop, which has rolled over to the screensaver, and then back up at the smirking felisian crouched above him. "I'll finish it tomorrow."


End file.
